


Vodka

by shewasagaystripper



Category: Queen (Band)
Genre: Alcohol, Brian's is being dumb instead of Roger for a change, Hangover, M/M, Vodka, relationship: get together
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-12
Updated: 2018-11-12
Packaged: 2019-08-22 19:12:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 17,500
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16603892
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shewasagaystripper/pseuds/shewasagaystripper
Summary: Brian learns that alcohol can, in fact, solve problems





	Vodka

 

Brian had never known that words could hurt so much.

Of course, he had come across instances when the things people had said to him - or said about him - had affected him negatively. Children bullying him in primary school, classmates talking behind his back in high school and university, his parents, especially his father, practically disowning him when he decided to drop out of university to put all his time and effort into the band… Understandably none of those patterns and events Brian could look back at with any sort of happiness, none of them evoked any warm feelings in him. Still, although all of these instances had not contributed positively to his self-image and confidence, none of them had ever come quite as a shock. None of them had ever made his heart skip a handful of beats and left him unable to breath for what seemed to be a minute after. None of them had ever made him want to turn away, run off, and wish he could quietly die somewhere in a ditch at the side of his road.

_I don’t love him_

The door slipped out of his hand and smacked close with a loud _bang!_ that added up to the headache that was growing worse with every passing minute. Every passing _second_ , more like, he thought dimly when he realised that no more than thirty seconds could have elapsed since he heard those words, those dreadful words that had shattered all of his hopes and sent him running away from the place he had once been so happy to be at with the person whom he loved most, but who obviously did not look at him as being more than a friend, a bandmate, an acquaintance even.

_I have never had any feelings for him_

It was cold outside; cold and dark, making Brian regret that he had not taken his coat with him when he had made his way out of the studio. It had been on the peg right next to the door of the room they had been practicing in all day, if he remembered correctly, but he had not been able to retrieve this information from the depth of his clouded mind as he was running out of the building to escape from the words he wished he never would have heard. He knew it was useless - he could run along the lane, cross the street, run to his car, and drive home as fast as he could (as he was in the middle of doing right now) in an attempt to leave behind the cursed place that had shattered all of his hopes and dreams, but he did could not unhear the words that were echoing through his mind.

_I could never be with him_

It was not late yet; it hardly could have been six o’clock when he had left the studio room ten minutes ago, but on this average January afternoon that did not mean that any trace of natural lightning was still to be found in the outside world. Brian half-walked, half-ran along the almost empty driveway of the studio building towards the small strip of parking places at the opposite side of the road. He did not look around before crossing it; not so much because he did not hear any sound of traffic being about to pass by, but because the tears in his eyes blurred his view from seeing any vehicles even if they were five metres in front of him. He tore the car keys out of the pocket of his jeans - thank _God_ he hadn’t put them in the coat of his jacket that morning, or he would have had to go back into that ghastly place to fetch them. After a few violent attempts that he knew for a fact were going to leave scratches on the paint, he managed to push the key into the lock. He ripped open the door with more force than he had ever done before, almost faltering to the left when he did so, but soon picking himself up again, letting himself fall down on the cat seat, and tearing the door close behind him with even more power than he had opened it in the first place.

Only then, when he had left the recording room, the studio, the premises of the buildings, and had safely locked himself away into his car, Brian allowed himself to break down - let himself cover his face with his hands and wipe tears of shock, grief, misunderstanding, and more than all, of heartbreak. Never had he gotten his hopes up quite as much as this, and never had all his hopes come tumbling down on him as painfully as they had mere minutes ago. Had he misinterpreted all the signs so horribly incorrectly, to the point where all words and looks and motions he thought to have been subtle (and not so subtle) notions of mutual affections? All the compliments, the smiles, the looks, the invitations to work on songs together or to go out together, watch a movie, grab lunch, go places with just the two of them, had they all meant nothing? Had he been mistaken, taken them to be signs of affection or even love when in fact they had been nothing but friendship? Had he been fooling himself all along? Had he been seeing things not because they were actually there, but because he wanted to see them? Was he growing delusional over this thing he at first made out to be just another silly crush, but which in time turned out to be the strongest love he had ever felt for anyone? Was he losing his mind?

_I can’t believe you actually thought I was after him_

Brian knew he had never even been supposed to hear these words. He should have been gone already; the speakers of the conversation had expected him to have left the place minutes ago. Even Brian himself had not known what he was still doing, hanging around in the studio almost ten minutes after he had announced his leave. Had he stayed around because he was not used to leaving the place on his own and had he awkwardly looked around in the hallway to find clues as to what he was supposed to do, or had he lingered on purpose, in hopes he might catch some of the conversation going on between his two remaining bandmates? If this first option had been the case, it was stupid to realise he could have saved himself from all of this heartache by simply having walked out of the building when he had told the band he was going to; if the latter option had been his goal, he had definitely fallen into the hole he had dug out for himself. Perhaps these were his just deserts for eavesdropping on his friends, be it voluntarily or involuntarily - but God, how was he to have known that one minute of questions and answers between Freddie and Roger could turn his mood, his emotions, his entire life so upside down?

_What on earth made you think I fancy him?_

Brian started the engine, pulled down he handbrake, and again without looking around to see if traffic was approaching, he drove towards the road as fast as he could. He wanted to get away from this place; he needed not just to be in another room than his crush, but he needed to be as far away from him as he could. The higher he saw the speedometer on the dashboard rising - sixty, seventy, eighty kilometres an hour - the more he felt his muscles relax, at least compared to how tight they had felt mere minutes ago. He loosened the grip on the wheel which had literally turned his knuckles white, and released his bleeding bottom lip from the grasp of two rows of sharp teeth. He was escaping the place that had inflicted such shock and pain on him, and though it did little to mend his heart, it did relieve him from the fear of running into his crush in his current state.

However, said relief was not bound to last for more than a handful of seconds; there was no way Brian, no matter how much he wanted to ignore the knowledge and push it right out of his head, could pretend that he did not share a flat with all three of his bandmates, including the one he was head over heels and drowning in tears for. There was no way he could escape him for long; now that John had left the studio about an hour ago and Brian himself perhaps five, it could not be long before Freddie and Roger would follow their example and head into their direction, too.

Brian felt his heart sinking down to his stomach, but then he vaguely remembered that it was Friday, if he was not mistaken - and Friday meant that the wild half of the band would go off and indulge in partying of some form after their time in the studio. He would probably not hear from either Freddie or Roger again until the pair of them would slouch into the kitchen the morning (or afternoon, more like) after, with a hangover and a headache to match. Yes, Brian was quite positive they were going to catch drinks after work, which they did as a rule each Friday afternoon. Going out, catching drinks, having fun, partying until deep into the night without ever realising what the effect of their seemingly innocent conversation had had on him.

While this last thought stung, Brian was glad he would at least be free of those two for the remainder of the night, because the last thing he was looking for right now was to stand eye in eye with the person who had either asked the questions he had not wanted to hear, neither the person who had answered in a fashion he had been wanting to hear even less. The only person he would now probably have to deal with was John, but this was not usually a problem. The bassist probably would have locked himself up in his bedroom to read a book, or, if Brian was less fortunate, would have taken possession of the entire length of the sofa so he could watch whatever trashy movie BBC 3 would be delighting the English nation with that night. In either scenario, John would probably not do more than say hi before directing his attention back towards either his book or his sci-fi movie, which Brian decided he should be able to tolerate despite of his growing desire not to see any other human being within now and approximately three weeks of time.

The road from the studio to their Kensington flat was normally a twenty minute drive, but this evening Brian made it to their apartment in what he estimated to be about fifteen minutes. Whether this was a result of him having missed out on the rush hour that blocked half of London between four and six each weekday, or because he had not exactly stuck to the speed limits in his hurry to get home, was something he was not sure of; but given the circumstances, he was inclined to opt for the second of these possibilities.

When he parked the car at the side of the road, it struck him that none of the other two cars of his flat- and bandmates was to be seen. That Roger’s car was not currently present at their residence was logical, but he had no idea what John was doing away from home on this Friday evening. Perhaps he was visiting his mother, or, upon having opened the door of the fridge having found nothing but stale bread and withered lettuce, had decided to get himself something to eat elsewhere. Maybe he had agreed to meet up with a friend to go and see a _real_ movie instead of one of those trashy 50s sci-fi disasters the BBC kept producing from what Brian expected to be an in-case-of-emergency-cabinets… In fact, Brian did not really care where their bassist was hanging out at this exact point in time. Of course he would not admit it out loud, but he was more than a little relieved to find that he had the apartment to himself for however long it may last.

It was only upon standing up from the car seat that Brian found out just how dizzy he was, and how the searing pain in his head had grown into an even more endurable stinging sensation towards the back of his skull, at a place he could not quite locate but which he sure loved to have cut off if it only would reduce the pain. Still, this physical pain was nothing compared to the feeling of sheer emptiness and self-deception he felt like he had inflicted on himself by having believed so furiously that he hand his crush could actually work as a couple. He felt his heart sinking in whenever the mere name of his secret love object crossed his mind, the tears welling down when he thought of the image of him, and the fact that they could never be. Everything was so close-by and seemed to have happened mere seconds ago to Brian. The fifteen minute drive between the studio and their apartment had not driven any emotional distance between him and the crush he might as well say goodbye to. The voices were still vibrant in his mind, the words of his crush still bounced around in his brain as an endless echo of an annoying commercial you could not put out of your head after having heard it on the radio’s morning programme…

_I don’t love him_

_I have never had any feelings for him_

_I could never be with him_

_I can’t believe you actually thought I was after him_

_What on earth made you think I fancy him?_

How he had managed to hoist himself out of the car, let himself into the building, and drag himself all the way to the third floor in his current stage of dizziness and disillusion, was something Brian guessed he would never know. Whether he had locked the car door, or even pulled the car door close behind him, was something he similarly did not remember - and moreover, something he did not care about either. If it was up to him, people could break into his car, smash out the windows, and drive off with the remains with it. What could he care about cars, or any kind of material possession now that the hopes of love, affection, a relationship which he had cherished for what must have been years at last, had been shattered by one innocent-seeming round of questioning between two of his best friends?

Maybe that was the problem after all; that his crush was in the first place not just his love interest, but his best friend, his flatmate, his bandmate. They had already known each other on so many levels before Brian had developed a much deeper rooted affection for him, while his friend all the time had continued viewing him as a just that - a friend. Maybe it was normal for friends and people who had known each other for years to look at each other in certain ways at times without meaning anything with it, or give nearly flirtatious compliments that were not supposed to be taken as such. Maybe he had seen things that had not really been there, but how was he to know which word or motions was meant to signify what? Brian had come to the conclusion that he was not particularly skilful either in friendship or in love years ago, which was something that, when he jokingly brought it up to his friends, was something even they could not deny. If they were thus perfectly aware of how he struggled with social contact, and especially with the borders that divided the different types of it, would they be cruel enough to drop hints that seemed obvious even to someone as blind for love as he, only to later have him find out it had meant nothing? Brian did not expect his best friends to do this to him on purpose, whereas the glances, the hands on his shoulder, the winks, and all what more had not seemed to have happened by accident. Still, if these did mean something after all, why had his crush then just admitted that he felt nothing for him?

Everything was so confused, so terribly confused, and the whole situation left Brian unable to do anything else but gather all his remaining strength, open the door of their apartment, burst into the kitchen, toss the keys onto the kitchen table that was still loaded with breakfast plates none of them had taken care to clean up that morning, and walk over to the countertop, on which he put down his hands as to find stability his dizzy brain definitely needed. He pressed his eyelids close, but finding that this only increased the pressure on the back of his head, he opened them again. Through tear-stained eyelashes he could make out the surface of the countertop he was leaning onto, the old-fashioned surface that danced before his eyes as he looked at it. Although he seemed at a loss for his brain- and common sense at the moment, Brian did realise that one should not be made dizzy by the sight of an ordinary granite countertop. Momentarily not knowing how to properly get rid of the sight of the spotted granite in a simple, practical manner, Brian turned around and let his body sink down the cupboards until he was sitting on the kitchen floor, face between his knees in an attempt to pull himself together. He needed to think, come up with a solution at least for how he was going to drag himself through this evening. but could not focus. So many thoughts, so many questions, so little time before one of his flatmates would inevitably come home and wonder what on earth he was doing there, sitting on the floor and probably looking like he was about to drop flat onto the floor. Brian realised he was only one step away from having this event actually happen to him, and in all honesty, he knew he would not protest if it happened. Maybe if he would pass out and wake up again after a moment of unconsciousness, the pain in his head would subside a little. Or maybe he could just faint right here in the middle of the kitchen and not wake up again until everything was back to what it used to be; back to a universe where he had not lingered around in the studio, had not overheard the cross examination between Freddie and Roger, and consequently would not have gotten his heart broken like he had right now.

However, despite the whole situation, including the feeling that he was shifting in and out of rationality and disillusion, Brian realised that what had happened was unchangeable, and that he had to learn how to live with the fact that the person he loved most in the entire world did not reciprocate any of his feelings. He had to deal with it, whether he liked it or not - and he had better done so before anyone would walk in on him sitting on the floor crying silent tears for a love that never could be.

_Focus_ , he inwardly told himself. _Focus._ _You have to get back to your senses. What do you usually do to get back to yourself, to stop yourself from panicking?_

Unfortunately for Brian, when he thought of an answer to this question he had imposed on himself, he found that usually when things looked bad for him, all he had to think of his crush, his shining eyes, his endearing smile, his overall vibrant personality, to be given hope again. For obvious reason, this consolation did not work on this particular day; in fact, Brian found that just the thought of his crush made his heart break into even more pieces than it already had been.

Alright then, next solution. What did others usually do to calm themselves down with? What did his parents do, or his friends - what did Freddie, Roger, and John usually do to gain control over their minds again?

It took a bit of time for Brian to put together the pieces of his brain and recall the hobbies of everyone around him, and by the time he had, he could only conclude that much of it was wasted effort. His father liked hitchhiking, but the last thing Brian was planning on doing for this night was crossing more distance than that between the kitchen and his bedroom. His mother liked knitting and embroidery, which she always told him ‘put her mind at ease’ - Brian, however, possessing neither the skill nor the tools nor the patience, decided against this plan. John usually read, but his vision was too blurred to dive into a book at the time being. Hunting for fashion at markets or tinkering around with cars were also both options Brian did not fancy engaging in, especially at this particular moment. So then what was there left to do? What on earth were other people doing at this point in time?

That turned out to be an easier question - on this regular Friday evening other people were going out, partying, catching a movie, having dinner, having drinks; the latter of which activity he expected his crush to be engaging with right now. Having drinks; letting go of everything around them, simply drinking and forgetting about whatever circumstances were troubling them, leaving all troubles and cares at the door and let the alcohol take them to better places.

Forgetting troubles. Leaving cares at the door. Let alcohol take them to better places. Brian personally never really had been a drinker; it was not his kind of thing, and if the band did manage to press him into going to the pub with them, he usually left it at one or maybe two pints at most. Still, this particular night, alcohol - or not so much the substance itself but rather the effects of which Brian had been told rather than that he knew them by personal experience - seemed rather appealing to him. He was willing to do whatever it took to forget about his heartache, his pain, and all the misunderstanding and confusion he had been tangled up in even since having overheard his friends’ conversation. Though he normally would not reach for the bottle, he was far enough gone to give it a go this particular evening.

It was not as if he had anything to lose anyway.

With one last rough gesture from his hand he wiped away the remaining tears from his face, after which Brian shakily got up from the floor. Still being unstable, he secured himself from tumbling over by the use of the countertop that he made sure not to look at just in case the printing of it would assault his vision again. He reached out a shaky hand towards the upper cupboard; he did not have any alcohol at his place himself, but he knew where Freddie and Roger kept their stock. They often enough proposed him to have a drink from it, so Brian figured they would not mind if he took the liberty to pour himself something in their absence. And even if they did, Brian figured he would deal with their anger later, once everything had flown over and when this terrible headache and emptiness in his heart had passed.

Though the boys liked to boast of their collection of spirits, it seemed to Brian that it was about time to restock the provision cupboard again. When he pulled the wooden cupboard door open, all he could see was an almost empty bottle of gin, a bottle of wine Freddie had made him taste once and of which he remembered to have an awfully bitter aftertaste to it. Then there was a small flask that Brian was sure could fit into the palm of his hand - it did not have a label on it, and Brian consequently did not dare try it out. For a moment he assumed that this was all there was; but then, when he shifted the bottle of wine a little to the left, he discovered another bottle standing behind it. With trembling hands he took it out and discovered that it was a bottle of vodka; a Russian brand of which he could not currently pronounce the name as the letters danced before his eyes, but which he had heard Roger talk about often enough. It was one of his favourite spirits, which made a melancholy shiver pas through Brian’s spine; Roger enjoyed taking a swig out of a bottle of whatever this vodka was called every now and then to get his spirits up, while he was now going to use it in an attempt to drown the sorrow and the tears the owner of the bottle had unknowingly and unintentionally caused him.

Pushing away the image of Roger, the light of his life who had dimmed his horizon for what seemed to Brian to be forevermore by his confessions of how he felt about him, Brian cast the cap aside, put the bottle to his lips, and closed his eyes as he took the first swig out of many.

# # #

Not only had Brian never known that words could hurt so much; he had also never known that alcohol could cause such pain, be it on an entirely different level.

Brian had no idea what time it was when he awoke from his state of unconsciousness. He could not remember whether he had fainted, slumbered, or actually fallen asleep for the remainder of the night; all he did know was that whatever kind of unconsciousness he had passed through, had been brought on by alcohol - alcohol in quantities he had never before experienced. Drinking had never quite been his thing; he had never indulged in more than a few pints of beer over the course of one evening. Never before had he had a single drop of vodka in his life; and consequently, the amount he had taken in before he had passed out, had had a terrible influence on him. He had been dizzy before, but right now he did not even dare open his eyes out of fear the world would be spinning around. His headache had grown out of control, his stomach felt as if someone had tied a knot in it, all his limbs ached, and the taste of vomit in his mouth made him feel even more queasy than he was already. He could not remember why he had downed as much alcohol as he did at the moment, but when he took a few deep breaths and concentrated as deeply as he possibly could with his headache-clouded mind, he soon found out the reason behind his splurge of minutes, hours, or even half a day ago, for all he knew.

Slowly things started coming back to him. Memories flickered around in his mind like shards of glass, stinging him and puncturing whatever remained of his sanity. The studio flashed by, the four of them; him standing up and announcing his leave. Him hanging around in the hallway. Paper-thin walls allowing him to hear the words of his friends, words he never had been supposed to overhear, but which, either by accident or by fate, had gotten to him.

They had not just gotten to him; they had entered his ears, his brain, his mind. They spun around like a whirlwind in his brain, assaulting him and disarranging the last sparks of hope he had so far been able to hold onto. _I don’t love him. I have never had any feelings for him. I could never be with him. I can’t believe you actually thought I was after him. What on earth made you think I fancy him?_

Brian tried to push these thoughts out of his mind, but that was easier said than done. It was as if someone had glued them to the inside of his brain, written them down with a magic marker; at any rate, he found that he could not get rid of the thoughts as long as he was lying with his eyes closed.

Speaking of which… where even was he? When he carefully stretched out his fingers, he felt them sink away in the soft surface of what seemed to be a mattress. He was lying on his back, with his head slightly tilted, indicating that it was supported by a pillow. The combination of these factors told him that he was lying in bed, even though he could not remember having gotten down on it. He recalled having pulled the bottle of vodka out of the cupboard, taken a few swigs, then again when it did not seem to have any effect after a few minutes, until he had eventually taken the bottle with him to his room out of fear that John might come home from wherever he was to walk in on him downing Roger’s stock of vodka. However, what he had done once he had arrived in his room - whether he had sat at his desk, on his bed, or simply stood around with the bottle in his hands and consuming more of the drink every other minute - was something he did not remember. It didn’t really matter either, he told himself; he was in bed right now, which was probably a good thing, because he did not think he could have stood up for five seconds straight feeling the way he did.

Every muscle in his body hurt and felt stiff beyond the point of being of use to him. Bringing up one hand to rub his eyes turned out not only to be painful to his arm and all the muscles within, but even more so to his head. It seemed that removing the sleep from his eyes increased the pressure on the back of his head beyond the point of what Brian felt was natural for a headache. But unfortunately for him, it was not simply the back of his head which was killing him now; the pain had spread to his forehead, his temples, and everything that was in between, and Brian could not help but groan into the still darkness of the room as he removed his hands from his face and clumsily tried to turn around in bed as much as his strained muscles would allow him, hoping that changing his position might relieve the pressure on his head and body somehow.

‘You’d better not turn around. It’ll only make you feel more dizzy.’

Brian nodded faintly in understanding to this advice given to him by a soft and careful voice, but just when he had turned back to his previous position and waited a few seconds for the pain of having moved to fade away, it suddenly dawned on him that these words did not come from his own imagination. Someone must have said it to him, meaning that he was not alone in the dimly lit bedroom he had found himself waking up in mere minutes ago.

The discovery and realisation of this made Brian feel his heart sink in. He did not know who it was who had spoken to him, but he was absolutely to have anyone see him in this state of being, regardless whether it was the garbage collector or the Queen of Spain. None of his family, friends, bandmates, or anyone else for that matter had ever seen him more than slightly tipsy, let alone in a state of hangover like the one he was finding himself in right now for the first time in his life. He tried to comfort himself with the thought that anyone seeing him like his might just assume he had fallen ill over ‘natural’ reasons, but then he remembered the bottle of vodka he had left either on his desk or on his nightstand before having lost consciousness. The link between the bottle and his current state of illness should be easy enough to make even for the biggest fool in the country. That was, if there was anyone else around who qualified for that position now that he, Brian Harold May, had drank himself into a stupor after finding out the crush he was so sure of was mutual, actually did not like him back in any respect.

Trying to push his thought out of his head, Brian returned to the topic of the person just having spoken to him. He was positive that whoever it was next to his side would surely give him a scolding or laugh at him for having downed God knew how much vodka and woken up in this state of helplessness, depending on who the person was. All he could do was hope that they would save their admonishments or amusement for later, because right now, he was so sick and dizzy that he felt like he was going to throw up if he would have to focus on someone talking to him on top of his current duty of breathing in and out as calmly as possible in an attempt to keep his nausea under control.

Luckily for Brian, no disdainful words - either angry or mocking - followed from the individual sitting or standing next to him. In fact, no words at all were spoken; all he heard was the sound of something being picked up, followed by the sinking in of the mattress right next to his side caused by a hand being put on it, and then the feeling of something cold and wet being placed on his forehead. For a few seconds he felt like just the weight of the piece of drenched fabric was going to split his head in two, but then the coldness of it started to numb the pain of his burning forehead, and Brian sighed in relief.

‘Thank you,’ Brian uttered softly, wishing he could do more for the person who was not only not making fun of him, but who was also actively trying to alleviate his pain. Now that his lips failed him, he wished he could at least look up at the person to give them a look of appreciation, but it seemed like his eyes were not being very cooperating either. When he did manage to separate his eyelids from each other, all he could see was a strip of blurred darkness, out of which he could make up the figure of a person, but not much more than that. He closed his eyes before opening them again, trying to focus as much as he could. His time he could make out the shape of a face, light hair surrounding it, a pair of big eyes looking back at him with a slight, comforting smile to match… And then it struck Brian that the soft voice, the light hair, the big eyes and the soothing smile, could belong to no one else than the person who had indirectly landed him into the situation he was currently finding himself in.

When the realisation of this dawned on him, it was as if all Brian’s senses suddenly seemed to work again, or were at least willing to cooperate just enough for him to open up his eyes at once, prop himself up on first his elbows and then his hands, and stare at his crush as if he was the first human being he had ever seen. Roger, on the other side, stayed perfectly calm; he moved the hand in which he was holding the washcloth just in sync with Brian to make sure he would not bump his already painful head against his arm, and his endearing smile never faltered, even not when Brian’s greet to him was not as warm as it usually was.

‘ _Oh_ ,’ Brian uttered at last after having gazed at his crush for a handful of silent seconds, an interjection which had the qualities of sounding both shocked, surprised, disappointed, and stressed-out all at the same time.

‘Not happy to see me?’ Roger said with one cocked eyebrow and a chuckle to match. At any other moment Brian would have understood that he was just joking and not calling him out on receiving him so half-heartedly, but at the moment - with the pain in his head and his body, his broken heart, and the stress of suddenly standing face to face with the last person on earth he wanted to see him in his current state of general awfulness - all Roger’s joking introduction did was make Brian feel even worse. Not only had he probably disappointed Roger by having his friend walk in on him hungover beyond reason, on _his_ liquor, on top of that, he had now also received him so half-heartedly and awkwardly that Roger must think him an awful friend. _If Roger, on top of all of this, was to find out the reason behind me having reached for the bottle, he will probably never want to see me again,_ Brian thought to himself as to make his own heartache complete.

Seeing that Roger was still waiting for a response to his question, Brian - still staring open-mouthedly at him - looked at him in something close to pure horror while he searched his brain for a decent reply, if still there was one that could make up for all he had just pulled Roger through.

All Brian wanted to say to him - I am happy to see you, I just feel so awful, I don’t want you to see me in this state -  seemed to crumple itself up in his mouth, until he eventually got no further than an awkward ‘no, I just… I am… I don’t…’. This made Roger momentarily raise one eyebrow even higher than he had already done, before he gave Brian a wink and told him not to worry about it.

‘It’s okay, I was just joking. Don’t trouble yourself about it,’ Roger told him, but hearing these words from him did not make Brian feel relieved in any sense of the word. The guitarist currently felt both numb with defeat now that he had made himself look like such a fool in his crush’s presence, and at the same time felt like he was his brain was hyperventilating, spinning around with all the memories of what had happened and predictions of what was yet to come as a result of his splurge. The combination of being freaked out and completely deprived of all emotion simultaneously resulted in a strange sensation of being hyped up and empty, nerves and nervelessness, a whirlwind and the eye of a tycoon going on in his mind, and Brian felt himself growing sick.

‘You look terribly pale,’ Roger noted, confirming Brian’s fears that whatever was going on the inside of him was starting to show on the outside. ‘Come, you should lie down again,’ he ordered, placing his hands on either of Brian’s shoulders but not pushing him down, as if he wanted to help him but was afraid of either hurting him or making him feel even more queasy if he would push him down to the mattress too quickly.

Brian’s first response was to nod to Roger’s proposal, as he did not want to deny or work against him in any way, but he then resolutely shook his head as he felt a wave of acute nausea washing over him. He felt like he was going to throw up between now and a handful of seconds, and there was nothing he could do to warn Roger for what was coming up other than clutching his hand in front of his mouth and turning his face around so that his crush at least would not have to see whatever was going to come out of his mouth.

Luckily for Brian, Roger was more prepared for what was going to happen than he was himself. Before Brian fully could comprehend what was going to come down, Roger had already reached below the bed, grabbed a red bucket which Brian faintly recognised was part of the cleansing products they kept in the cupboard underneath the countertop but which they rarely touched, and, wrapped a strong but gentle arm around Brian’s back to guide him into the direction of the bucket. All of this happened just in time, because a mere second after Roger had directed both Brian and the bucket into the right place, a second wave of nausea rushed over Brian, and this time he could not keep it in. Tears filled his eyes and shame filled his heart when he spilled all that remained of last hour’s or last night’s - he still didn’t know - alcohol into the bucket which Roger held up for him while continuously stroking his back.

‘It’s okay. It’s fine, let it all out,’ Brian could hear Roger say through the spluttering sounds his own throat was producing. He felt tears either of discomfort or of embarrassment (possibly a combination of both factors) running down his cheeks while he threw up, until eventually he had nothing more than a little gal to give.

‘Better?’ Roger asked him when Brian lifted his head again and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, only turning his face into his direction when he had removed the tears from it. Brian sniffed while he thought of a reply to utter, but all he could really do was try to prevent himself from really bursting out in tears, which would embarrass himself even more - in case this was still possible. The taste of gal that lingered in his mouth was bitter, but the bitterness he felt towards his own actions and entire personality right now, was way worse to swallow away. How could _anyone_ on earth embarrass themselves to the extent where they were throwing up the alcohol they had consumed as a result of foolishly having thought their crushed liked them back, in the very presence of said crush?

‘I’m sorry,’ Brian offered instead of answering the question, and Roger, in reply, told him not to worry about it. In fact, while Brian was still mentally beating himself up for having vomited in the presence of his crush, Roger was already moving on to actions that had to be pursued once he had put the red bucket with the results of Brian’s excessive drinking away.

‘Come, let’s change your shirt. You can’t wear this any longer,’ Roger told his friend with a nod towards whose general direction. Brian, once his dizziness allowed him, looked down and gazed over the image of his white shirt - mainly white, that was, but now dotted in multiple places with light-ish spots of what Brian assumed could be nothing else than vomit. In how many more ways could he appear stupid, irresponsible, appalling, or in any other way come across as a complete idiot to Roger?

For some reason it did not immediately struck Brian that by saying he should change his shirt, Roger was actually serious about him having to change his shirt. His brain, still numb and fogged with alcohol and its consequential hangover, did not process things with the speed it usually did, and it was only when Roger stood up and walked towards his wardrobe that Brian realised he was serious.

‘This is your wardrobe closet, right?’ Roger consulted before pulling open the wooden doors without really having waited for Brian to reply. Brian had better things to do - such as wondering how badly God or any kind of justice under the sky must have hated him for not only letting his crush have him change out of his shirt, but also have him snoop around in the embarrassingly messy and ridiculously outdated wardrobe of his. He wanted to tell Roger that the plain shirts were on the far left side of middle shelve of the closet, but his voice failed him, and he was left to watch as Roger groped through the poorly folded articles of clothing lying on the shelves.  All Brian could do was wish Roger would not stumble across that ridiculous green and purple striped shirt he had solemnly promised Freddie he had chucked away months ago, or fish the ridiculous orange bodywarmer of which he did not even know how he got it (let alone why he had kept it) out of the piles of clothes.

Luckily for Brian, Roger was quick to pull a perfectly plain short-sleeved t-shirt in a somewhat drab but otherwise normal grey colour from his wardrobe. He then neatly shut the doors behind him as to make sure none of the atrocities would be visible either for him or for the person he seemed to be determined to take care of in his state of illness. Brian still had mixed feelings about Roger’s presence in his sickroom; it made his crush all the more adorable, knowing that he could be so caring and comforting when necessary, but the shame of having Roger seeing him like this, was one Brian expected would torture him for evermore. He had no idea how he was ever going to face Roger again once this atrocious event had passed, especially not when Roger, standing in front of him unfolding the shirt, gestured for him to take off the shirt he was currently wearing.

‘Do you think you’ll manage, or shall I help you?’ the unexpectedly civil drummer asked him, and Brian did not think he had ever wanted to disappear out of a situation quite as badly as right then.

_Oh yes, great, that’s just what I needed, for my crush to see my naked chicken breast. Even Freddie, or my grandmother for that matter, is more tanned and has stronger muscles than I have._

‘I’ll manage,’ Brian eventually mumbled in an attempt not to make things even more awkward than they already were. Surely, he had wanted Roger’s hands all over his body for as long as he remembered, but not in the current situation, by having his crush pluck his sweaty, vomit-stained shift off of his chest and revealing the way too pale skin and tangible ribs below.

With a few hesitant glances in Roger’s direction but without actually daring to look him in the face, Brian picked up the hem of his shirt and slowly dragged it up and all the way over his head, past his willowy arms, and, not too sure what to do with it, threw it to the other side of the bed he was sitting on. He could feel Roger looking at him, probably inwardly making fun of his transparent skin and lanky body, and Brian could not recall an instance in which he had felt more self-conscious as right now. Just as he was going to pull the duvets, which now were secured around his hips, further up as to cover his torso, Roger reached out the shirt into Brian’s direction. At first the guitarist thought he would just had it over to him, but when he went to take the shirt from Roger’s hands, the boy surprised him by pulling it over his head, and down his bare torso. Brian could feel Roger’s hands sliding along his arms, his sides, his hair - of which he did not even want to think in what condition it was after having just woken up from an alcohol-induced state of sleep - and he had to turn away to prevent him from seeing the glow on his cheeks.

‘I, eh… Thanks,’ Brian managed awkwardly while pulling the new shirt as far down his body as possible to make sure his pale skin and bony hips would not in any way be visible to his crush anymore. He swallowed painfully, and he was sure his face must have contorted when he tasted the bitterness of vomit lingering on his tongue. Roger seemed to notice this too, and somehow knowing what it meant (or well, somehow… Brian was rather sure that Roger, with his love for whiskey and vodka and everything strong, was rather familiar with the symptoms of a hangover), provided a solution to the problem.

‘You should probably brush your teeth, or at least rinse. I know it’s the last thing you want to do when you’re hungover, but trust me, it’ll make you feel better,’ he said, and Brian, both because he believed Roger as alcohol-expert in everything he said, and because he really _did_ want to scrub away whatever kind of taste it was that lingered in his mouth, nodded vehemently. Him sitting upright in bed was taking its toll on him, and the moment he tried to swing his leg over and step out of bed all of the sudden, he knew it had been a bad idea. His body protested instantly; it was as if all his muscles in his lower body contracted, and his head - he assumed God only knew how his head was affected by the movements of his right leg - started throbbing in pain, which made him clutch at his temples and close his eyes.

‘That was a bit too enthusiastic,’ Roger remarked. In any other situation where the speaker of these words has not been Roger, and in which Brian had felt better than he did at the moment, the guitarist was sure he would have thrown in a sarcastic ‘gee, thanks for pointing out’ or ‘you really think so?’. But because it was Roger, and because Brian could swear he had heard a touch of candid concern for him, he nodded in agreement and waited for the pain to subside. There was silence for about half a minute, in which Brian could almost feel Roger’s concerned eyes probing right through him, until the worst of pain had ebbed away and left him capable of carefully reaching one leg over the edge of the mattress first, then a second, and carefully putting them down on the floor. The linoleum flooring was cold against his bare feet, but this was least of Brian’s concerns when Roger reached out a hand to help him stand up from the bed, making his heart pound in his chest out of fear of doing something stupid again. Brian only felt the sweatiness of his own palm when he placed it into Roger’s perfectly cool hand, and mentally added this detail to the lists of reasons why Roger would never like him back while he shakily stood up from the bed.

This time around, he was more successful in getting up than he had been when he had attempted to sit upright and was punished by his own body for it with a sharp, stinging headache. His limbs were trembling and everything before his eyes was blurry, not to mention that he was sure he would trip over his own feet if it had not been for Roger holding onto his arm, but Brian somehow managed to remain stable. Step for step he reached the sink, by which time he had to clamp onto the while marble and coughed up the remainder of gal left in his stomach, staining the white surface of the sink with the substance. Blushing in shame and wiping his mouth with the palm of his hand, he watched how Roger rinsed everything away and filled the glass standing on Brian’s desk with water.

‘Here. Rinse first, and then drink some water,’ Roger told him. Brian followed his advice - orders, rather - and after having rinsed thrice, he drank the remainder of the water in no more but two swigs. The sensation of the cold water made Brian’s head pound again, and Brian cursed himself for ever having taken to the bottle.

‘Now I remember why I never drink like this,’ Brian mumbled while rubbing his eyes. Roger’s hand rested on his shoulder for a moment, before he took it away and made his way to the door.

‘I’ll get you some aspirins. Drink some more water in the meantime, and get back to bed.’

Brian nodded feebly. He filled a glass with water and took a sip from it, before he carefully walked back to his bed again. Some of the liquid gushed over the edge of the glass and landed on the floor, but this was least of Brian’s concerns at the moment. The glass he placed on the nightstand to save it for the aspirins Roger had promised to bring up for him - the thought of which already made him want to vomit - and he carefully sat back on his bed again, resting into the pillows. The sound of footsteps on the stairs were audible, and before Brian could even properly settle himself, Roger had already opened the door and was sitting next to him, a glass of water in one hand, and a strip of aspirins in the other.

‘More than three aspirins is not advisable if you don’t want to risk throwing everything out again. But we’ll stick to two just in case,’ Roger spoke, more to himself than to Brian, who at the moment felt himself growing nauseous at the idea of having to swallow multiple of those pills. The sound of Roger pressing two aspirins through the aluminium package made Brian feel queasy, and Roger had to help him hold the glass of water because his fingers were shaking too badly. He was given the two aspirins in the palm of his hand, and, with the help of the entirety of a glass of water, managed to down both of them more or less in one go.

‘Thank you,’ Brian said through nearly panting breaths as Roger placed the empty glass next to the full one on his nightstand.

‘Want some more water to drink? It’ll help wear off your hangover faster,’ Roger told him as he picked up the second glass, but Brian shook his head. He was already struggling trying to keep in the two aspirins and glass of water as it was right now, and was afraid that having to down another glass really would be asking too much of his currently sensitive stomach.

A short silence ensued, until Brian eventually broke it with a soft: ‘I’m sorry.’

A smile formed around Roger’s lips. ‘For what? For not wanting to drink more water?’

‘No, for you having to see me like this,’ Brian mumbled. He did not dare face Roger while he spoke, but Roger, on the other hand, seemed to have no trouble staying cool, calm, and collected among it all. A bit _too_ cool, calm, and collected for Brian’s taste, perhaps.

‘It’s okay. I don’t think any less of you because you downed two-third of a bottle of vodka in one evening. We’ve all been there,’ Roger said with a soothing smile - but it had the exact opposite effect on Brian.

_Oh great, so he’s already found out exactly what I did to get myself in this state,_ Brian thought to himself as he mentally beat himself up over the almost empty bottle of vodka which he suddenly discovered in plain sight on his desk. Of course Roger had seen it, if he had left it standing right there in the middle of his desk. Moreover, it had probably only taken Roger five seconds to determine how _stupid_ he had been.  

Roger, who seemed to notice the painful look upon Brian’s face and the reason behind it, asked him: ‘Wanna talk about it?’

Brian thought for a second, but soon decided against it. He knew he could not keep things hidden forever, and sooner or later Roger would want to know why someone like he, who never took more than a beer or two during an evening at the pub, would suddenly go out of his head and drink half a bottle of vodka - half of _his_ bottle of vodka, that was. Brian knew he would have to tell him sometime, but, if he could help it, he wanted to postpone this moment of revelation to a point in time when the alcohol had disappeared out of his system, and not every muscle and cell in his body would be hurting. He therefore feebly shook his head, and Roger accepted his ‘no’ as an answer - at least for now.

‘You should probably go back to sleep,’ Roger said, which was a relief to Brian. No matter how much he normally would love to have time between Roger and him alone, after the conversation he had overheard earlier that day, and _certainly_ after having embarrassed himself as much as he had done in the aftermath of his alcoholic escapades, he wanted nothing more than to close his eyes and escape from the messy reality he was currently finding himself in. 

When Brian nodded to Roger’s proposal, Roger got up from the side of the bed, pulled back the duvet, and helped Brian changing his half-sitting position into a lying one. Brian had to look at the ceiling instead of at Roger’s eyes when his friend covered him with the duvet as carefully as Brian remembered his mother used to do to him while still a toddler.

‘Can I do anything more for you?’ Roger asked, and Brian again had to think for a second. There was a lot he wished Roger would do, the easiest of which would be to shut the lights, the door, put the washcloth back on his forehead again, wait until he fell asleep, and never mention the incident again to either Brian himself or anyone else. Even less realistically, Brian wanted for Roger to somehow magically cure him from his hangover, the terrible pain in his head, and to even more magically fall in love with him just as deeply as Brian was in love with him. Brian knew he should not have the slightest hope of Roger liking him back - not now that he had overheard all Roger had said about not reciprocating feelings to him to Freddie - but how could he get rid of the hope that maybe, somewhere deep inside, Roger would like him that way? Even if Roger’s feelings for his were only a tenth of those Brian felt towards him, Brian would still sign for it. He knew he would then be able to sleep in peace,  and would be able to forgive himself for all the stupid things he had said and done during the last hours or so.

‘Anything? All you have to do is ask,’ Roger told him as to remind him of the question Brian so far had not answered. Brian shook his head before he would say more stupid things he would regret later.

‘What time is it?’ he asked instead, trying hard to oppress a yawn.

Roger looked over at the alarm clock on Brian’s nightstand, and Brian could see him frown in the semi-darkness to read the position of the cursors of the clock. ‘About five, I think.’

‘Five?’ Brian copied in surprise, instinctually propping himself up on his elbows as if he was planning to get up again after having heard this news. ‘Five in the morning?’

‘No need to worry,’ was all Roger said in response as he made Brian lie down again. ‘All the more reason to go to sleep now. I’ll be here with you when you wake up.’

Although this promise did not fall short on melting Brian’s heart, it made the guitarist feel guilty beyond words to hear that Roger was planning on staying here and sitting next to him until he would have slept off his hangover. That _he_ had chosen to be an idiot, did not mean that _other_ people should have to bother putting up with the consequences - and _least_ of all not his crush.

‘You should go to sleep, too. You probably came home late, and…’

‘Not really,’ Roger shrugged before Brian could finish his sentence. ‘Freddie and I were home a little after twelve, and when I saw the pantry open and the bottles messed around…’ Roger paused for a moment when he saw Brian close his eyes in pure embarrassment. ‘Anyway, don’t worry about me. Don’t worry about anything. Just go back to sleep,’ Roger whispered as he put out the light on Brian’s nightstand, immersing the two of them in darkness - and, soon after, Brian immersed into sleep.

# # #

When Brian woke up again, the sunlight shining through the half unclosed curtains confirmed that he had successfully slept through the remainder of the night, and had passed into the morning. His head, though still sore, did not pound as badly as it used to, and even his muscles felt a bit less tense when he stretched out his arms. Sure, he did not feel ready to run a marathon yet, and did not feel like leaving his bed anywhere soon, but he certainly felt better than he had done when he had woken up in the night with Roger at his side.

Speaking of Roger… Brian carefully turned around in his bed to face the other side of the room, where he immediately spotted Roger. Sitting (or slumping) in the chair he must have dragged over from his desk to a position next to his bed was Roger, who, with his arms folded over each other and his head resting on his shoulder, was fast asleep. Roger snored softly in his sleep, and Brian could not keep his eyes of his messy blond tresses and angelic features. He looked so peaceful, so adorable in his sleep, and Brian would have wanted nothing more than to press his lips against his, to kiss him awake and whisper between breaths that he loved him, that he loved him and never wanted to stop kissing him-

_Stop it, Brian. Put it out of your mind. It’s never going to happen._

Brian chewed on the inside of his cheek when he reminded himself of the reality he so desperately wanted to forget, but which he knew would follow him around from now off, no matter where he went. He could picture himself with Roger in all of his daydreams and fantasies as much as he liked, but he had to accept that in real life, they could never be. He had heard Roger sat it himself that he did not like him, that he did not even know how anyone could ever have gotten the idea that he liked him. Reminding himself of these words hurt, but Brian knew he had to face reality. He could stare at Roger in his state of unconsciousness all he liked, picture their lips against each other and kissing each other from dust to dawn, but he had to accept that these were mere fantasies. Last night Roger had spoken his biggest fear - that he did not like him back - and with that, all of his hopes and dreams for a good ending to this story had been shattered.

Brian looked away from Roger, finding it too painful to picture his lips against his while knowing that it could never happen, but he soon found himself having to glance into Roger’s direction again. He felt himself so drawn to him, as he had done since practically the first time he had seen him. It had been years, literal years since he had first discovered his crush on his friend, and his affection for him had only grown stronger when time passed. What he felt for Roger was not just another stupid belated teenage crush; it was love, and it was the strongest love he had ever felt.

And what was more than that - he felt like it was not a one-sided love from his side only, but that Roger had similar feelings for him. Brian could not imagine Roger having feelings as strong as he had for him - simply for the fact that he was so infatuated with his best friend that it seemed impossible to him for anyone else to feel as strongly about someone - but still he had a feeling Roger liked him, too. He had been receiving so many signals from him lately; from the way Roger talked to him to the way he looked at him, how he always waited for him, tried to catch him alone, proposed going to see a movie together, go out together, having lunch or dinner together at some place; things he never asked John or Freddie. The little signals and moves Roger had made lately had led Brian to think he liked him, he loved him even, perhaps, but apparently he had misinterpreted everything he had seen. All the glances, smiles, hands on his shoulder, endless conversations until late at night, invitations to go out between just the two of us, it had apparently all been nothing. Roger had admitted to Freddie he did not feel anything for him, and the realisation of this made Brian feel like someone had struck an arrow right through his heart.

Minutes and minutes passed in silent contemplation, during which Brian stared at the bottle of vodka he had left on the desk the evening before and wished he never had been born. The glances into Roger’s direction every thirty seconds were something he could not prevent, even though he felt more melancholic every time he looked at the sleeping angel he knew would never be his.

At least half an hour must have passed by the time when Roger first gave signs of being on the edge of waking up. A soft half-sigh, half-moan was what first attracted Brian’s attention, and when he saw Roger toss his head to the other side and brought up his hand to rub his eyes, Brian knew he was not far away from awaking. In what seemed like a short rush of panic about what he looked like and what Roger would think if he saw him sitting in bed with his hair uncombed and his face unwashed, Brian quickly tried to rearrange his hair and wiped the sleep out of his eyes, and could then do nothing but hope for the best when he saw Roger was opening his eyes.

Brian tried to look away, to avoid Roger thinking of him as some kind of voyeur if he watched his every move, but who on earth could keep his eyes to himself when those eyelids with golden eyelashes fluttered open to reveal the most beautiful, baby blue eyes the world had ever beheld? Who could face the other way when Roger ran a lazy hand through his tangled locks, and blinked multiple times in accession to clear his eyesight and look into your direction?

Brian, not knowing what to say in response to Roger’s waking up - and too absorbed in the beauty of the eyes that seemed bluer and the skin that seemed softer than ever - decided to wait for Roger to first talk to him, out of fear that he would say something stupid if he spoke first. He had a feeling that he was hardly coherent after a terrible night like the one he had just experienced, and that whatever way Roger used to open up the conversation would without a doubt be a thousand times more sensible than anything he could blurt out at this point in time.

‘You’re awake,’ was the first thing Roger remarked to Brian, who could not help but smile at this reply. It was so typically Roger to break the ice by saying something that was as obvious as that the sun was warm and the water was wet, and yet it sounded perfectly sensible to Brian now that Roger said it. But perhaps that was just him; in his mind, Brian could disprove Einstein’s theory of relativism with solid evidence and propose an entirely new, science-backed theory, and Roger could point out that two and two was four, and still he would be more impressed by what his crush had stated than by anything he had just researched himself. It was not even so much what Roger said; it was that _he_ said it, and that made all he said sound like the best things Brian had ever heard.

‘So are you,’ Brian told him, and Roger, who stretched his arms towards the ceiling to probably loosen up his stiff limbs after having to spent the remainder of the night sleeping in a chair, smiled back at him a bit sheepishly.

‘Feeling any better than last night?’ Roger asked, a question that required Brian to look away from his friend to ensure an even complexion, instead of the blush he knew for a fact would pop up if he did not keep his emotions under control. He knew that sooner or later Roger would bring up the topic of him having chugged more than a little too much hard liquor the night before, but Brian was not sure if he was prepared to talk of it already.

‘I think I do,’ he said a bit vaguely. Sure, he felt better than he had done the night before, but he did not want to get up the hopes of Roger or of himself by saying he felt great again.

‘I’m glad to hear,’ Roger said with a kind smile, but when neither of them knew what to say after this polite remark, silence followed for a bit. Brian, eager to both avoid Roger’s probing eyes and questions of what had been going on in his head while chugging half a bottle of vodka the night before, let his eyes travel towards the alarm clock, and was not too pleased to find what time it was.

‘Lord, it’s already eleven,’ Brian remarked when he looked at the alarm clock.

Roger obviously did not see a problem with this. ‘Oh, doesn’t matter. It’s only Saturday, after all.’

‘I know. But my mother wanted to come over today,’ Brian grimaced.

‘Well, you’ll sure have an interesting story to tell her,’ Roger said optimistically, but he soon added a more realistic: ‘Although I don’t think she’ll appreciate it.’

‘I’m rather sure she won’t,’ Brian sighed, rubbing his eyes with the back of his hand and running his fingers through a pile of messy curls. ‘God, how do I look? Can you tell that I… you know…’

‘Drank half a bottle of vodka? A bit. Your eyes are a bit red, but if you just wash your face and brush your hair and take a shower and put on some decent clothes, I’m sure she won’t notice anything,’ Roger advised him. ‘Also make sure to brush your teeth until you can’t smell any liquor anymore. Your mother always seems to be rather critical of what Freddie and I smell like when she comes down on a regular Saturday…’ he said with a smile as if to cheer Brian up, but all it really did to the guitarist at this point in time was making the boy more nervous about tidying himself up before his mother would drop by at their flat and be able to see the evidence of what had gone on the night before in his face.

‘I’d better get out of bed, then, if I want to be able to do all of that before she shows up in less than an hour,’ Brian said, both to himself and to Roger. However, when he was about to swing first one and then the leg over the edge of his mattress, he was held back by Roger, who, with a gentle push against the chest, made him stay exactly where he was.

‘Wait,’ Roger said with more determination than Brian had heard in quite a while. ‘You’re not going anywhere before we’ve talked.’

_Oh Lord, here we go,_ Brian thought to himself while he felt his heart skipping a beat. There was only one topic urgent enough for Roger to keep him hanging at a moment, and that was the one thing Brian did not want to talk about. If it was up to him, he never would have wanted to talk about it - but, knowing Roger and his persistence, he was aware that the talk was going to be held sooner or later. However, he would rather reserve it for later than have to discuss his utterly stupid decision right now, with his head and all of his muscles still hurting from the excessive alcohol consumption.

‘Can’t we talk after my mother…’ Brian asked softly, but the shaking motion of Roger’s head already told him that the answer was not tolerable to him before he even voiced his opinion on the matter.

‘No, we can’t. Because I’ve known you for a while,’ Roger said without sounding reproachful, even though Brian could not help feeling a little bit called out. ‘If I let you go now, you’ll find a way to sneak out of the house after your mom leaves, keep out of the way for the rest of the night, and do all that is within your might to avoid me for the upcoming three days until you hope I will not bring up the topic again.’

Brian blushed a little, and did not resist when Roger picked up the topic he wanted to discuss without asking his permission first. Roger had withdrawn his hand from Brian’s chest, but his words kept Brian right in place and prevented him from going out of bed as he had said he was going to do.

‘Brian, what you did last night was _not_ you, and you _know_ it,’ Roger said sternly, and Brian, facing down, nodded humbly.

‘I do. I know,’ he admitted.

‘And I don’t believe that you just became curious for alcohol out of nowhere, trashed the booze pantry, locked yourself into your room, and downed half a bottle of hard liquor out of nowhere. Am I right?’ Roger asked.

Brian, though he had to chuckle for a bit at Roger’s description of the pretext he warned him he was not going to buy, quietly consented: ‘You are.’

‘So I’d like to know what happened that made you do this. Grab this bottle and gulp half of it down all of a sudden,’ Roger said with one nod towards the almost-empty glass bottle, before focussing on Brian again with a deep, serious gaze Brian was not used to receiving, or at least not from his generally goofy, outgoing, extrovert friend.

‘It’s… hard to explain,’ Brian mumbled. ‘I don’t know where to start, or what to say.’

‘Don’t worry. I’ve got all day,’ Roger said - which Brian understood he probably said as to not put pressure on Brian to tell his story within two minutes, but which was not exactly convenient now that Brian had to prepare for having his mother coming over. Roger seemed to understand this difficulty of situation, too.

‘Look, I’m not going to force you to tell me everything right now, or ever, for that matter. You shouldn’t feel obliged to tell me anything you’d rather not share with anyone,’ Roger nuanced his previous statement. ‘But I would like to know what happened last night so I can help you,’ Roger said, sounding so sincere Brian could no longer look away from him, but had to face him and give him a thankful nod.

‘Thank you,’ he whispered.

‘And if there’s something wrong, if something happened to you, you can tell me,’ Roger continued. ‘You can tell me everything and I will not judge you. You’re my best friend, and it’s not my goal to reprove you, even though it might look like it at the moment. It’s my goal to help you, to be the one you can talk to, like best friends should do for each other.’

Brian, though he started off nodding at all the things Roger mentioned in his speech, was drawn to a sudden half when Roger spoke the words ‘best friends’ - words that on their own were not strange or harmful at all, but which, in the current situation, pressed Brian with his nose on top of the facts a bit too much. Yes, Roger was his best friend, and yes, he was grateful for having him as a best friend, but Brian had wished for him to be so much more than that. He had wished for the pair of them to be closer than that, but all of his dreams and hopes had shattered by the conversation he had overheard the night before. Right now, while he was still trying to overcome all Roger had said about his feelings (or lack of feelings, that was) towards him the evening before, Brian could not handle having Roger point out once more that they were nothing but friends again. Even though he tried, he could not manage to keep his thoughts to himself.

‘That’s the problem,’ Brian mumbled under his breath. He did not even notice he had said it until Roger, by repeating the sentence, brought it to his attention.

‘What’s the problem?’ Roger asked him, and Brian, as soon as he realised his mistake, could do nothing than bite down his bottom lip to ensure he would not say anything more after having let these words slip. His brains spun to come up with an answer to dodge any questions that would unquestionably arise from his comment, but could find nothing - at least not before Roger had drawn his own conclusions from his remark.

‘I didn’t mean-’

‘That I’m your best friend?’ Roger asked with one eyebrow raised in inquisitiveness, which he soon dropped when he thought he understood the meaning behind this sentence. ‘Is our friendship a problem, Brian? Do you feel like our friendship is a burden to you?’

‘I didn’t mean it like that,’ Brian hastened to say, but he could not really get a word in between. Roger took over the conversation, well-meaning as he always was, but he was going into the complete opposite direction as to what Brian had been meaning to get at by his unfortunate choice of words he never should have spoken out loud.

‘Because if I’ve said or done something wrong, you can tell me, Brian. That’s also what we’re friends for,’ Roger told him with a deep and thorough look into his eyes - one that, for it was part of a speech on friendship that had not been what Brian had been aiming at at all, made the guitarist want to hit himself in the face. ’You know you can tell me if I hurt you, so I  can watch my words and actions more carefully next time. We both know I can be a bit too spontaneous and rash, but I’d never want to hurt you.’

While Roger uttered this entire monologue, all Brian could do was mentally bury his face in his hands, until he eventually saw no other option than to actually physically do this while simultaneously interrupting Roger’s well-meant but utterly useless speech. He could no longer listen to Roger blabbering on about their friendship bothering him in a way it did not, and decided that he needed to put an end to it for the sake of his own sanity.

‘Roger, please stop talking,’ Brian said while removing his hands from his face and seeing the drummer, mouth half opened from the sentence he had been cut off from saying, staring at him. ‘I know you mean well, but… please stop. Because this isn’t what I meant,’ Brian explained when Roger looked at him with a puzzled look that told Brian that this was going to be the point of no return. He had made the decision to tell Roger his idea of what part of their friendship was hurting him was wrong, and consequently he would now have to come clean to him if he did not want this conversation to turn into an even bigger disaster.

‘But I thought you said our friendship was the problem,’ Roger reminded him.

‘I know. I know I said that, but… please forget what I said,’ Brian blurted out, which earned him a strange look from his friend, especially when he covered his face in his hands again. He wanted to tell Roger how he felt about him, and that ‘friendship’ was a problem to him because he wanted more than that from him, but he had not thought he was going to have to own up his feelings to his love interest as soon as right now. He had not come prepared with a decent speech, or at least a decent opening sentence to cut off this topic, which he wished he had when Roger stared at him intently like only his baby blue eyes could do to him.

‘Bri? Are you okay?’ Roger asked, sounding worried over the fact that Brian hid his face behind his hands again in his current state of physical illness. The guitarist, removing his hands from his face and using them instead to support his chin with his fingertips, decided that this was the moment he would have to disclose his secret. Not facing Roger still, he took a deep breath and started speaking whatever it was that came out of his mouth right now in the hope that he could build a coherent story around last night’s events and the feelings he had dealt with for way too long.

‘Look, Roger. We’re friends. We’re best friends as you just said, and I know that, but I… to me you’re more than that,’ he said, allusively enough to not have to straight up own it he was in love with him, but clearly enough to ensure that Roger understood him. The careful nod Roger gave him ensured him that he indeed understood, and allowed Brian to move on. ‘You’re much more than a friend to me, and I thought that… I had gotten the idea that you might feel out the same, but yesterday I found out that you don’t,’ he said, his voice trailing down at the end of the sentence. He felt himself unable to keep up his volume, but was unsure if this was out of shame for having fooled himself for so long, shame to own up his foolishness to Roger, out of the tears that started to block his sight and the lump that blocked his throat. He blinked numerous times in a row against the tears, but found that there was little he could do to prevent them from falling down; all he could do was avert his head to make sure Roger would not have to see him in his moment of weakness while silence ruled between the pair of them.

After a handful of tense, quiet seconds, Roger, without either confirming or denying the remark, asked him: ‘What made you get to that conclusion?’

‘I heard… I heard Freddie and you last night in the studio,’ Brian managed in the smallest voice. Another time another place he would have worried about Roger thinking him a stalker for (be it accidentally) having eavesdropped on them, but all he could think of right now was how on _earth_ to stop himself from crying. He would worry about Roger thinking him creepy for listening to his private conversations later, when the pain of first indirectly- and then directly being rejected by his crush would have subsided.

Roger looked pensively upon hearing this. To help him remember, Brian managed between a few painful swallows: ‘when he asked you how you felt about it, and you said that you… never had any feelings for me. And that you couldn’t see why Freddie ever thought you liked me, wondered what on earth had ever made him think you… fancied me.’

Roger nodded in understanding, but did not say anything in reply to Brian, who felt the cold sweat starting to break out now that Roger remained awfully quiet. Telling Roger the reason why he had downed half a bottle of vodka all at once - and thereby admitting he was in love with hm - was hard enough for Brian on its own; the fact that his friend would not say anything to him nor show any emotion as to how this confession made him feel, made Brian feel helpless beyond words. He was so afraid of Roger’s reaction, and every second spent in suspense made him fear for the worst more and more. Painful as it could turn out to be, he needed Roger’s response to his confessions, and he needed it right now.

‘Well?’ Brian whispered, Roger’s silence breaking him up on the inside.

‘I said that,’ Roger acknowledged, and Brian - although he had tried to prepare himself for it as much as he could during the silence that preceded - felt his heart starting to crumble to pieces inside of him. It hurt, even though he knew Roger did not feel the same way about him as he did, it still hurt a lot to hear him say it. Brian wished he could close his eyes so he no longer had to listen to it - even though he would soon be glad he didn’t, for Roger’s next sentence contained a surprising twist. ‘All of that, that’s right. But… I did not say that about you,’ Roger told him. Brian, looking up at him in total surprise, met a pair of soft and honest eyes that told him he had understood Roger correctly.

_I said that. But I did not say that about you. I did not say that about you._ The words echoed around in his mind, and though Brian got as far as understanding that it a good thing that Roger had not spoken as sharply against the idea of being in love with him to Freddie, he did not yet fully realise what Roger meant with it.

‘What?’ Brian asked in total bewilderment, and Roger, with an endearing smile, repeated the words that were about to change everything Brian thought he had come to know the night before.

‘I never said any of that about you- oh, poor boy, did you actually think we were talking about _you_?’ he asked compassionately, by now understanding what Brian had come to believe about the conversation of Freddie and him that he had overheard. ‘Did you actually think- of course you did, you just told me…’ Roger said when he saw Brian staring at him in a kind of disbelief. His friend was still trying to rearrange the pieces of the puzzle in his mind to make them fit together again, and Roger could not help feeling extremely guilty for having put Brian through all of this recent insecurity.

‘Oh, you poor thing! Of course I did not say that about you!’ Roger exclaimed compassionately, loudly enough to make Brian wonder if anyone outside his bedroom might have overheard this part of the conversation. Not that he would have minded; for all he cared the entire flat could have been listening to the pair of them. The only thing he was focussed on right now was on the pair of bright blue eyes before him, and the question of who on earth the owner of them had been talking about if not about him.

‘Who were… were you talking about, then?’ Brian eventually managed when he had pulled himself together at least enough to engage in conversation again.

‘About Tim!’ Roger exclaimed even louder than he had done with his previous comment.

‘ _Tim_?’ Brian repeated in total surprise - in so much surprise that it made Roger believe he had forgotten his former bandmate and college friend altogether in the heat of the moment.

‘Yes, Tim Staffel, the guy we played with when we were still in Smile?’ Roger reminded him, and Brian nodded abundantly to let him know he had not forgotten about the guy yet.

‘I know, I know who Tim is, but why…’ Brian’s plan had been to ask Roger where on earth Tim suddenly came from; they had not seen each other in ages, and he never had seen anything that could point at Tim and Roger sharing romantic feelings for each other. He could not finish his question, however, because Roger seemed to be just as indignant about Freddie bringing up Tim as his possible love interest as he was, and was in a hurry to drive the idea right out of the world.

‘God, I don’t know!’ Roger interrupted him, throwing his hands in the air in what seemed to be complete helplessness. ‘We saw Tim last week at the pub, had some drinks with him, and ever since Freddie won’t shut up about me liking him. It’s driving me out of my _mind!’_ Roger declared, leaving Brian baffled once again.

So it had not been him Roger had declared not to have feelings for in any sense of the expression, but the guy they used to play with and who Freddie and he had come across at a pub the other week. Brian’s entire world was standing upside down at the moment, but at the same time it felt as if things were landing in their right place again now that Roger had at least not said so strongly about _him_ that he could not imagine ever liking him.

Even though Brian already knew the answer, he still had to ask it once again for the sake of his own peace of mind. ‘So you… you don’t like Tim?’

‘Of course I don’t! How could I have eyes for anyone else but you?’ Roger continued in the same loud and confident voice he had been using for a while right now - which he suddenly seemed to regret the moment he realised what he had said. Clamping one hand over his mouth, and the other soon following to do the same, was all Brian needed to see to know for sure that Roger had not meant to tell him _that_ much. Unfortunately for Roger, however, it was too late to take back what had been said already.

More than that, Brian had never been so glad to have Roger saying more than he had intended. Although he first needed a moment to stare in Roger in dazed confusion - something he found himself doing a _lot_ this morning - the meaning of those words soon started to sink in.

_How could I have ever for anyone else but you. How could I possibly pay attention to anyone else now that my eyes have fallen on you. How could I notice anyone else apart from you._ Whatever way he repeated and reformed the sentence in his mind, it seemed to Brian that it all led to the same thing, and left no room for incorrect interpretation - Roger liked him back. Liked him at any rate too much to pay attention to anyone else around.

‘You mean… that you…’

‘That I can never keep my mouth shut when I’m telling myself to,’ Roger reproved himself first, hitting himself across the forehead with the flat palm of his hand. ‘But now that we’re here anyway and you’ve made your confession, I think it’s time I do the same. So yes, Brian, I like you. I like you a _lot_ ,’ Roger admitted in the softest, most honest voice Brian had heard him speak so far.

Words failed Brian again while he stared at Roger, who seemed to be doing the same to him. He had no idea how long the silence lasted between the pair of them while they seemed to be able to do nothing but gaze at each other open-mouthedly. Similarly, Brian did not know which one of them was first in breaking the quietness and motionlessness; whether the first trace of a smile had started to tug at the corner of Roger’s lips, or if it had been he who had started to lose his neutral expression first. In the end, it did not matter who had started it - all that mattered was that the two of them burst out into a helpless laughter that broke all the awkwardness they had found themselves surrounded by until that point. Sounds of laughter and tears of stress now long gone overpowered all that happened in the world around them, the world Roger and Brian had completely forgotten about in this moment that was so focussed around the two. All they noticed was each other and their feelings for each other, the letting go of insecurity and stress and exchanging it for happiness and love. A fire alarm could go off in the hallway, a bomb could be dropped right in their living room, and they would not have noticed, for they were both too mentally and physically intertwined to pay attention to anything else. In fact, they were so lost in embracing each other and crying out tears of laughter over the situation they had landed themselves into, that the repetitive ringing of the doorbell and the steps in the hallway right next to them did not even reach them.

‘My God!’ Roger exclaimed between helpless fits of laughter, letting go of Brian to instead clutch his arms around his torso, aching with laughter over their own stupidity. ‘You mean to tell me that you were convinced I did not like you because of that talk I had with Freddie yesterday, and you decided to drink half a bottle of Vodka to cope with it?’

‘I did!’ Brian cried out in response, no longer ashamed of his actions but seeing the funny side of them himself now. ‘I didn’t know what else to do now that I was convinced you didn’t like me whatsoever!’

‘After all the signs I gave you!’ Roger hiccupped, wiping tears of laughter out of his eyes. ‘All those embraces and compliments and trying to catch you alone… Had you completely missed all of those while I tried so hard to show I liked you?’

‘I didn’t! Those were exactly the things that made me believe you liked me back!’ Brian said in as serious a voice he could produce at the moment, which soon broke down when he added: ‘but all of that shattered when in all my wisdom I was sure Freddie and you were talking about _me_ last night!’

The two of them shared another moment of helpless laughter, until Roger was eventually the first to wipe the tears of laughter from his eyes and pull himself together.

‘God, we’re such a bunch of _idiots_. Me going on and on about not liking ‘him’ to finally get rid of Freddie and his annoying questions, and you believing that I was talking about you and raiding my vodka stock,’ he laughed.

‘I didn’t see any other solution to the problem last night,’ Brian followed him up. ‘But I’m sorry. I’ll buy you a new bottle of vodka,’ he giggled, but surprisingly, Roger declined the offer.

‘Don’t. I’d rather have you repair my losses another way,’ Roger told him.

Brian, emitting one last giggle, asked him: ‘And what way do you suggest?’

‘Popcorn and soda,’ Roger said, which for a split second did not make sense to Brian until Roger added with an adorably innocent tilt of the head: ‘Go to the movies with me tonight?’

Brian did not know what came over him when he - completely out of what he knew to be his own character but encouraged by the moment that after last night he never would have guessed would happen - asked Roger ‘and call it a date?’. He was, however, glad he had asked it, because Roger seemed all too happy to answer in the affirmative. It was a relief to Brian to find that Roger viewed their evening out tonight as a date, just like he did, and that he had not embarrassed himself again by reading into signs he had mistaken. Then again, Roger had just admitted that he had never mistaken any of the signs he had given him, for his friend liked him back - and that was the biggest relief and source of happiness Brian had known in quite a while.

Drunk no longer on vodka but on love, which temporarily made Brian forget all of his usual insecurities, he could no longer just sit on his bed and watch the perfect angel sitting on the chair in front of him. There could have been no more than a metre between them, but even this seemed too great a distance for Brian, who - without thinking - closed the gap by leaning forwards and throwing his arms around Roger. In his state of bodily weakness he could not move forwards all too much, but when Roger needed no encouragement at all to come his way and accept the hug, the pair of them met in the middle for a tight and loving hug Brian only could have dreamed to receive from Roger in a romantic context. He had dreamed of moments like this, in which he could wrap his arms around his crush and hold him tight for as long as he wanted to, but to actually find himself in this position felt too good to describe in words. From the way Roger rested his head on his left shoulder to the warmth of his thin arms around his torso- everything pointed to Roger being made for Brian to hold him and never let go of him again.

Unfortunately for Brian, the moment he had to let go of Roger inevitably arrived, when by removing his arms from his back and pulling back his crush let him know he wanted to be let go of. Begrudgingly Brian withdrew his arms as well, and the pair of them found each other staring into each other’s eyes at too close a distance not to notice the look of pure joy in the eyes of the person sitting opposite of them. Brian swore he could have looked into Roger’s eyes for the remainder of the day, but those beautiful lashes soon fluttered close when his friend leaned in closer again and placed a kiss against his cheek.

‘I love you,’ Roger whispered, ‘and I can’t wait to go out with you tonight.’ Then, with a sudden look of concern falling over his face, he asked: ‘Are you sure you can do that, though, tonight? We can put  it off for a day or two if you’re still feeling hungover and such.’

‘I’ll manage,’ Brian told him. ‘The world could catch on fire for all I care, but we’re going out tonight. I can’t wait any longer.’

‘Neither can I,’ Roger admitted in what seemed to be relief their just-planned date was still standing for that night, before he leant in to kiss Brian’s other cheek.

Brian, knowing the blush on his face must have been a permanent feature of his by now, ignored his own wondering if he still looked decent and instead gave Roger a smile and an overly honest: ‘I’d kiss you back but my breath must smell terrible after last night.’

‘I’ll accept another hug for now,’ Roger answered, which Brian did not need to hear twice; he enveloped Roger before the boy could even properly finish his sentence, which sent the two of them back to giggles again. It was not as bad as their previous fit of laughter, but it was enough to draw the two of them back into their own little world they had just formed, and which Brian hoped they could dwell in for evermore.

‘God, we’re gonna have such fun together,’ Roger sighed, and Brian placed a kiss on his shoulder and held him a little tighter to show him he agreed with this statement. Words could not do in situations like these, nor could hugs and kisses and other physical signs of affection show how happy he was that the situation he thought was about to ruin his entire life, had turned 180 degrees around to make every aspect of his day and night shine brighter than it ever had done before.

In fact, Brian would have called that exact moment - him sitting on his bed in the late morning, sunlight shining faintly through the curtains and the boy of his dreams lying in his arms - the most perfect instance of his life, if it had not been for the door violently being slammed open by a more than just a little irritated looking Freddie in his morning robe and his hair partly uncurled, the flatiron still in his hand while the other rested on his hip.

‘Brian, have you gone deaf? Your mother has been ringing the door bell for at least two minutes straight! I had to let her in or the poor woman still would have been standing outside-’

Freddie suddenly fell quiet, which was so unlike him that even Roger - who previously had been clamping on to Brian tightly enough to ensure that the full force of the British army could not separate them - pulled away from his source so he could turn around and look at Freddie. Brian and he saw Freddie’s eyes travelling between the pair of them, the relative chaos in the otherwise overly orderly bedroom, and eventually, the almost-empty bottle of vodka standing right in the middle of Brian’s desk.

With a nod towards the latter mentioned object, Freddie sternly told his two previosuly entangled friends: ‘You two have some explaining to do.’

‘You have _no_ idea,’ Roger chuckled, undoubtedly referring to how much Brian and he still had to explain between the two of them. They had told each other just enough that morning to clear up the misunderstanding of Roger having talked about not liking Brian and of Brian not having misinterpreted all the hints he had dropped him, but that had been just about it.

‘I suggest you start right now,’ Freddie invited them to enlighten him as to whatever had led to the situation he had walked in on fifteen seconds ago. However, the both of them knowing there was no summary to be given of all they had gone through in the course of just a night, put him off for the moment with a promise of telling him later. This was done not just because it was impossible to tell him the story in five seconds, but also because they needed a moment to pull themselves together and share some hugs and kisses before they would be able to exchange the bedroom for the quiet dining room where they would have to answer others for things they hardly understood themselves had happened to them.

‘If you make some coffee and direct my mother to the kitchen, we’ll get dressed and tell you everything over lunch,’ Brian suggested, but Roger countered part of this proposal.

‘No coffee for Brian, though. I know you feel like it, but you’d better take some tea right now,’ Roger advised him, and Brian, who trusted his date to be an expert on the topic, nodded at him.

If Freddie had not yet seen the bottle of vodka flaunting itself in the middle of the desk, he would have been able to guess from his own experience that avoiding caffeine and staying in bed until far past eleven in the morning suggested a hangover. Right now, the tea Roger suggested not just told him he was not mistaken in thinking a lot of alcohol had been drunken in this room - it told him it had been consumed by the last person he would have thought of.

‘Brian, I would not have thought you would ever get to this point. You’re usually the one who knows better,’ he said, shaking his head. Brian looked away for a bit, not knowing how to react to this reproof, but Roger soon came to his rescue.

‘It turns out that he knows how to get hungover a lot better than any of us,’ Roger told Freddie, who raised one eyebrow at him. ‘Because he’s just shown me something I’ve never seen myself by drinking half a bottle of vodka.’

‘And what would that be?’ Freddie asked sceptically.

With a perfect smile that was both innocent and cheeky at the same time, the smile Brian would grow to love more and more now that it belonged to the person he then did not yet know he would be able to call his boyfriend before the night would fall that day, Roger said: ‘that alcohol can, in fact, solve problems.’


End file.
